The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [15]
Since four o’clock was the hour he had indicated, I had a little time to spare before leaving to keep the appointment, and I occupied it in reviewing the past week’s newspapers. They had been tidied away, but at my request one of the footmen retrieved them and brought them to my room.
By the time I had finished reading, my amused tolerance for Mr O’Connell had completely evaporated. His cool and unfounded statement that we had consented to investigate a fictitious criminal case was bad enough. His most recent references to us were positively infuriating.
Since the so-called mystery was no mystery at all, only a string of meaningless coincidences, it would have died a natural death had not O’Connell and his co-conspirators of the press kept it alive by various doubtful stratagems. Especially useful to them were the activities of certain members of the lunatic public, including the sem priest who had been mentioned in an earlier article. This individual had become a regular visitor to the exhibit where, attired in flowing white robes and moth-eaten leopard skin, he prostrated himself and performed mysterious rituals with the intention, one presumes, of propitiating the mummy.
Emerson and I had been Mr O’Connell’s principal victims. There were several stories about our past activities, including a picture of Emerson that would assuredly drive him to homicide when he saw it. The artist had depicted an incident that had occurred the summer before, on the steps of the British Museum. Emerson had only waved his fist under Mr Budge’s nose, he had never actually struck the man; but the drawing might have served as an illustration to a sensational novel – ‘Take that, you dastardly cur!’ Budge’s bulging eyes and look of abject terror were very cleverly portrayed. (The dispute, a mere tempest in a teapot, had arisen after Budge had the effrontery to write to The Times objecting to Emerson’s valid criticisms of an Egyptian pottery exhibition. In the course of the letter he had used language no gentleman should use of another.)
Mr O’Connell had not even scrupled to exploit an innocent child in his pursuit of a journalistic sensation. The paragraphs mentioning Ramses were in the worst possible taste. There was no need to mention the fact that Ramses was regarded by certain Egyptians (the most ignorant and superstitious) as a kind of juvenile jinni, a demon in youthful shape. I also deeply resented O’Connell’s implication that only negligent, uncaring parents would expose a child so young and so ‘delicate’ (his word, not mine) to the unhealthy climate and manifold perils of an archaeological excavation. Compared to London, Egypt is a veritable health resort, and I had certainly done all any human female could do to prevent Ramses from exploring abandoned pyramids, being buried alive in the sand, and carried off by Master Criminals.
So it was in a frame of mind almost as homicidal as Emerson’s would have been that I prepared myself for the assignation. I had of course meant to take my parasol. I never go abroad, in London or in Egypt, without it. It is the most useful object imaginable, serving not only as a protection against sun or rain, but, when need calls, as a defensive weapon. At the last minute I turned back to the bureau and removed from it another article of attire. Emerson is always making fun of my belt, even though the implements attached to it, in the manner of an old-fashioned chatelaine, have more than once saved us from a horrible and lingering death. Matches in a waterproof box, a little flask of pure water, notebook and pencil, scissors, knife – these examples are sufficient to explain why my belt was an indispensable aid in all climes and countries – including certain parts of London. The belt itself was of stiff leather, two inches wide, and on one memorable occasion it had served me well – to fend off (for a brief but vital interval) a threat more perilous than death.
I managed to leave the house unobserved by any of the occupants except Gargery the butler. He was new to the